Dimmed Sun: Crown of Ruins
by Ruination of Infinity
Summary: Chaos is on the move. The forces of Good are in disarray. The Shadowscythe face internal strife as their Empress consolidates her iron grip over her lands. What will King Alteon's death mean for the rest of Lore?
1. Prologue: Fall of the Dragon

Prologue: Fall of the Dragon

The King is dead.

It was a simple sentence, only three words long. It was the sentence that a little girl, and the youngest of King Alteon's three daughters, had long dreaded to hear. She sat in her room now, as twilight claimed the world outside, just as death had taken her father from her.

She remembered her father's smile and his gruff but gentle voice, his beard tickling her forehead as he kissed her goodnight. She remembered the time he'd taught her to ride a horse, and the time after that when he'd scolded her for trying to steal the family dragon. She remembered, and cried, and cried.

Only a few steps away, beyond her bedroom door, the men and women of Swordhaven went to and fro, struggling to cope with the disasters that might overcome the kingdom, now that its regent lay dead. She didn't care about any of that. She didn't care that the undead might invade or that the forces of Chaos could take advantage of the situation. In her troubled mind, only one thought registered: her daddy was dead. She'd give anything to have her father back, even the destruction of the kingdom he'd built, even though he would never have wanted that.

As the night wore on toward day and the noise outside rose and fell, another thought joined the first: Drakath, the so-called Champion of Chaos, was responsible.

The third thought blazed through her mind as the sun rose outside, the end result of dwelling on her father's death and its cause. Princess Tara Alteon stood, and in her eyes that singular thought blazed like a thousand suns, and yet remained colder than the breath of the strongest frost dragon: revenge.

The King is dead.

Word reached Brightfang Keep quickly, due to its close proximity to Swordhaven and the skill of the Royal Messengers. Its lord, only the second of his line to hold the keep, had received the messenger warmly, expecting a pardon, a mission, anything really, he didn't mind whatever it was. As long as his king forgave him and acknowledged him again, raised him up to once more be among his fellows, he was content.

The somber face of the messenger crushed his hopes, and the sad news, accompanied by the tears the man barely held in check told the young lord that the tale was true. The man he'd once served faithfully, the man his father had died to raise to the throne was dead.

The messenger was soon off again, into the night, bringing with him the dark news of the death, leaving behind a conflicted lord. He'd hoped to show the heroes of Good that their alliance with the undead was dangerous, a trap by the snake-minded necromancers. Yet now that his king was dead, his strength was needed. Should he go on with the plan or rush to Swordhaven to help the heir?

It was no question, he told himself, as he led the Golden Onslaught to Swordhaven. Afterall, his plan had little hope of succeeding if he could not convince his liege to break the alliance, and now that that liege was dead... By supporting the new regent, he might be able to gain a place in the council, and have a say in decisions made, which included those about the alliance. More than that, he owed a debt to the king who'd raised his family to their noble status, who'd even accepted him as a comrade-in-arms. Archlord Maximillian Lionfang smiled as his host rode the few short miles to Swordhaven, underneath the slowly brightening sky. _This is for you, old friend._

The King is dead.

The news was not unexpected. They'd long known, from their spies in Swordhaven, that the old man was dying. It was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his wounds and passed into the void. Yet, when the news came, first from a hurried transmission via seeing crystal from a spy, then from a royal messenger on dragonback, she had been stunned.

She was in her council room at the time, listening to her little generals argue over this and that. If her father were here, they would not have dared to even whisper in his presence, let alone debate loudly. Despite this, she allowed them their opinions; after all, her father had allowed them to live, so they must be useful. The master knew she needed their help after all.

When the messenger had burst into the room and delivered the message, those inside, whether alive or undead had quieted. It wasn't often that you heard about the death of your hated enemy, who had recently turned into an ally, after all. Before any of her minions had time to speak she had stood and raised her hand. This time they all turned towards her. She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, leaving her alone with her most trusted officers, and the trembling messenger. "Speak," she had said, and the man told his tale as her generals quietly talked about the repercussions this event could have on the war against Chaos.

When the man turned to leave afterwards, she had stopped him and handed him a message for the new regent of the kingdom of Swordhaven. Once he had gone, she left the council chamber and entered her private quarters. There, Gravelyn, Empress of the Shadowscythe, dropped her mask of cold and cruel evil, and allowed herself to _feel._ Sympathy, loss, anger, hate, she could feel them all, for a brief moment. _Father..._ As soon as it had come the moment had passed, and she was cold and hard again. She stared at the large obsidian mirror before her and wondered how Alteon's death would change the war against Chaos.

The King is dead.

It felt like Victoria had been hit by a Koalion in the stomach. All those years of working for her father, and against his government, wasted. The dragon upon whose back rested the hopes of thousands, shot down. She tried to escape the feeling by following her instincts and running off into the woods, but the feeling followed her, like a predator stalking its prey.

Princess Victoria liked her gut, not only because it housed the fairy who granted her wish and now became the source of her power, but also because it knew what would calm her down. The woods always soothed her, gave her time to think. While her sisters were off rotting behind the castle walls, Victoria could be free and wild as the legendary thief and hunter, Robina the Hood.

But now, now that her father was dead, Robina and her merry women would be hunted down and executed just because her vain and politically inept elder sister, Brittany, wanted to please her "loyal and just" advisers. So she sat down on a fallen log and mulled on how to best solve the problem at hand. _Hm... advisers... politically inept... sisters...it'salmosttara'sbirthdayandshe'llprobablywantgifts... hmmm...gifts? Gifts! Yes! Especially gifts from them. _She squealed in delight after finding out the answer. Not only did she know what would save the kingdom from complete and total ruin, but she knew from whom they would get it. So she hiked up her skirts and, with all possible haste, raced back to the castle, where she could hear the men and the women shouting, cheering their new queen.

The King is dead.

She sat in the throne room, waiting, gazing at her father's empty throne. She had barely slept for an hour before a servant had come knocking on her door. All it took were the words "his highness", and "dying" for her to sit up in bed and dress quickly before rushing to her father's chamber. She had spent a moment in shock and grief, looking at his aged face, now pale with purple lines under his skin, the sign of the end stages of chaorruption, before carefully approaching.

He had whispered his last wishes to her as tears fell down her smooth cheeks. When he passed into the realm of death, she had dropped the last measure of composure she held and wept openly, grasping her father's hand, that hand that had so often comforted and guided her. And now, barely twelve hours after his passing, she was to be crowned queen.

Her father's corpse had yet to cool when she was approached by her father's council. They impressed upon her the importance of her ascension to the throne, why it had to be as soon as possible, and other matters through long-winded speeches. Brittany, trained as she was by her father to sniff out the truth from beneath honeyed words understood only one thing: the council needed her, not to lead, but to be controlled.

She was the best choice for a puppet, or so they thought. They knew well what her sister Victoria said about her behind her back. They thought she was just a beautiful figurine, with no purpose but to decorate a shelf somewhere. How wrong they were, she thought, as her handmaidens dressed her for her impending coronation. She had cried when she first heard how her sister thought of her, but her father had taught her to use that to her advantage. Long years of being groomed to be the successor to the throne had given her a mind capable of thinking up convoluted plots and schemes, as well as contingencies for all of them. Her father had fought on the field, sword in hand; she would fight in council chambers, her weapons varied and numerous, ranging from spies and poison to ancient and forgotten laws and everything in between.

All of this went out her head as the guard at the back of the throne room called her, motioning towards the balcony behind the throne, where her advisors had already announced her father's death and her ascension to the throne. She emerged to find bright sunlight and a great throng of people from near and far, gathered to see their new regent.

She knelt, as the crown was placed on her head. She stood, as a tall man with white hair styled like that of a judge's wig, she thought his name was Charles, cried out for all to hear "All Hail Brittany!" And as one the crowd answered with a roar, repeating the cry "All Hail Brittany! All Hail Brittany! All Hail Brittany!" As she looked down on the hundreds gathered below, all cheering her name, she felt for the first time the power her father held, the power of life or death over these people.

As she held up her hand and prepared to address the people, she made a solemn promise. Chaos would fall, and her father would be avenged, even if she had to tear Drakath's throat out with her bare hands.

In the darkness of the Chaos Spiral, Drakath sat watching the events in Lore through the all-seeing Eye of Chaos. Grasping the purple orb, glowing with energy, he watched as the new queen of Swordhaven proclaimed all out war against Chaos. Seemingly speaking to thin air, he spoke. "I trust you two know what to do."

Before him appeared two feminine figures, the chaorrupted Twins that were once Xing and Xang. As one they spoke, bowing slightly. "Of course Drakath, we live to spread Chaos at your command." They left as suddenly as they had come. The Champion of Chaos continued his perusal of the Eye, smiling devilishly as he focused on the new queen. He whispered into the void the words that marked the further compliance of events to his plan.

"_Long live the Queen._"


	2. Chapter 1: The Moaning of the Bar

Author's Notes: Hi! I have to apologize that there were no Author's Notes at the Prologue. I must've forgotten. Anyway, this fic is an attempt to alleviate the sappy condition which AdventureQuest Worlds' plot is in. I'm a _huge_ LionFan. His portrayal as a hypocritical Knight Templar, in my opinion, does not do justice to his awesomeness. I hope that this fic will be able to remedy that. Please forgive the lapses in my storytelling. That said, I hope you enjoy the first (official) chapter of Dimmed Sun: Crown of Ruins! Also, a note on the formatting. Since the chapters in this story will be switching POVs a lot, and the site's formatting kills my original plans of separating POVs, I've decided to do so by using "titles" appropriate to each character. I blame this idea on too much Game of Thrones.

P.S.: I don't own AQWorlds.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Moaning of the Bar

The Two-faced Alchemist

The room was damp, cold, and dark, with whatever torches they had doing little to alleviate the fact. But then, that was probably expected from a room located deep beneath the bowels of Swordhaven. It was but one of many caves that had been found in the construction of the castle which the builders had decided to add to the castle's dungeons. It was supposed to house the people of the city in case of attack, but King Slugwrath, under whose reign it was constructed, had turned them into torture chambers and cells. Nowadays, they had been turned over to the Academic Guilds, for use in experiments too dangerous and too secret to perform outside. But that was all in the past, and the alchemist had much more current things to worry about, like his dead monarch's Chaorrupted body. He sighed and got back to work alongside his fellow academics.

Later, the man exited the chamber, squinting at the rays of light that illuminated the castle hallway. He then saw that a half-pig, half-man hybrid was approaching him. While walking, he called out, "What've you found out from your little autopsy, Silvertree?"

Silvertree shook his head. "We've found some important things about the infection, Baron Au'Mydas, and it only cements how much we should fear this 'Chaorruption'. The Chaos in the King's body reached an implausibly high rate in the span of two years since his infection. Nearly all of his mana had been saturated with it. The corruption was so powerful, in fact, that it is extremely difficult to visualize how the King could've survived that long."

Baron Au'Mydas laughed. "Hah! You know the King. He had a head harder than rock and a will stronger than iron."

Silvertree thought for a moment. "I suppose."

The Baron suddenly extended one of his stubby porcine arms toward his acquaintance. "Now come, Raoul, our pretty dragon queen has called a meeting of the Council. You didn't think I came here just to watch you play surgeon, did you?"

The Iron General

"My lord? My lord, are you awake? My lord!"

"What!?" exclaimed Cynari, springing awake, hands reaching for the sword at his side. Sleepily, he surveyed the situation. He was in his office near the barracks at Swordhaven, and in front of him was his personal scribe Anya, scrolls bunched in her hands and a nervous expression on her face.

"What is it Anya? More border guards asking for orders?" asked Cynari, rubbing the sleep from his face and clearing away the report he'd been reading before falling asleep.

"The queen wishes to meet the council, my lord, on the third hour after noon," Anya answered, dropping the scrolls she'd been carrying on his desk. "The bells have recently rung the second hour, and your lordship needs to prepare. Also, Sir Gent said he wishes to discuss preparations for the king's funeral. Shall I schedule his audience for tomorrow?"

Cynari shook his head as he stood, adjusting his cape as he did so. "No. Tell him I'll meet him after this meeting." He nodded as Anya handed him his cape. "If anything else, it'll give me an excuse to leave early if it drags on for too long," he said with a smirk.

The Green Ranger

Princess Victoria sat on a tree branch, in a perched position similar to that of the robin which she took as her pseudonym. She placed her eye near a hole in the stained glass window of the Meeting Hall of the Royal Council of Kingdom of Swordhaven. Several people were sitting around a round oaken table, with her sister Brittany, A.K.A. Her Majesty Queen Brittany Alteon the First, Queen of Oaklore and the Neverglades and Royal Pain in the Derriere, sat at the high chair. She was obviously bored, but was desperately fighting a losing battle to not let that show. Victoria recognized some of the men and women seated at the table, like the ham of a Royal Treasurer Baron Bayconn, Captain Rolith of the Pactagonal Knights, General Cynari of the Swordhaven Army, Lord Raoul Silvertree of the Alchemists' Academy, and Snowbeard, Ambassador of Swordhaven to the Dwarves. Judging by the looks on their faces, they were having a _long_ discussion. She placed her ear close to the crack to take a listen.

"… had completely saturated His Majesty's mana reserves. However, the symbiotes have all but disappeared from his body, and any that persist will disappear in the next few days." said a voice, which Victoria thought was the upjumped alchemist Silvertree, in his smooth baritone voice.

"Good." That could have come from only one person—Brittany, with her high, clear tone and the extra power upgrade from being, well, queen. "Baron Bayconn?"

"Gah! Y-yes, Your Majesty?" Victoria had to cover her mouth to prevent herself from laughing at the pig-man's half-oink half-cry of surprise.

"See to it that all expenses for the funeral are accounted for. I expect a complete report the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, Your Grace! At once, Your Grace!" the pig-man replied.

"General Cynari, Captain Rolith. I expect you and your men to be on alert at all times tomorrow. As you know, this is a state event, and, as such, will be the perfect time for assassinations."

"Yes, Your Grace." The two men acknowledged her orders almost simultaneously, though Victoria could tell which of the two had more experience in this kind of meeting.

Victoria heard the ruffle of paper. "That will be all. You are all dismissed." She then heard the sound of chairs against the floor, the creak of the hall doors opening, and the shuffling of feet. Then, a sigh, probably from her sister, and the _clack_ing of her shoes as she left the hall. Seeing as the battlefield had shifted away from the council hall, Victoria clambered down from her perch and into a courtyard.

Victoria entered her chamber full of thoughts. _Brit's council is a pit of Sneaks, save for those warriors, who'd rather maim and seriously injure with a sword than with words. _Before she closed the door, she asked a servant to fetch a bowl and a jug of water. She removed the twigs and leaves in her hair as the items were brought. As the servant left, Victoria closed the door and bolted it. Then, she took the jug and poured some water into the bowl, which she placed on the floor. She took a small vial of powder, put some in the water, and snapped her fingers.

Instantly, the water hardened and turned into an ice mirror. A few moments later, the image of a white-haired man appeared in the mirror.

"Hi, Warlic." Victoria greeted the man in the bowl, wearing a small smile.

"Good day to you as well, Princess. What seems to be the problem?", the man called Warlic answered.

Victoria told Warlic who was on Brittany's council and what had transpired during the meeting.

"So, what do you think?"

"Your sister's council is indeed effective. _Too_ effective. While Brittany might exert some level of influence now, the council might play on her inexperience as a ruler to claim power. On those that you recognize…" Warlic thought for a moment. "Bayconn and Silvertree might be cohorts under the same banner, but they have motives of their own, and will break off their alliance anytime they see fit."

"What about the other two?"

"Rolith and the General are, as you said, more fit to be on the battlefield than in a council room. You can trust them, because honor is instilled deep within their bones."

"But Warlic," Victoria argued, "the council room _is_ a battlefield."

Warlic smiled. "Well, if you put it _that_ way…"

"Anyway, I think I know their next move. Can you help me beat them to it?"

Warlic raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Brittany's still a maiden, so they'll each try to marry her to someone they're connected to so that they'd have some measure of control over her."

Warlic replied, "I expected as much. And I also expect you're going to make a request for me to do something about that."

"Please? Just show me who her future hubby's gonna be! Just anything related to him!"

"I can't help you."

Victoria was surprised. _For the first time, the Archmage Warlic can't do anything?!_ "What do you mean, 'I can't help you?'"

"Well, I can't set in motion the events that will lead the 'middle man' of Brittany's marriage to you."

"Why?" Victoria asked.

"I can't set in motion things that are already… set in motion."

"Huh?" Victoria really wasn't getting the mage at this point now.

"Well, said middle man is travelling to Swordhaven as we speak. In fact, he's outside the castle right now." At this point, there was shouting outside, but was not loud enough to disturb the conversation.

"Uh, okay. Erm, thanks, Warlic." Victoria hastily said farewell. The ice in the bowl completely melted in a matter of seconds. The princess then went to the window, towards the source of the shouting. What she saw both intrigued and terrified her.

She saw a man clad in gold armor riding a giant brown lion, an army prowling the city perimeter beyond.

She saw her godfather, Archlord Maximillian Lionfang, and his Golden Onslaught.

"This has to be _the_ most inopportune time for this to be happening," Victoria whispered.


	3. Chapter 2: Rising Darkness

**Author's Notes: **Hi everyone, R.o.I. here. This is the second chapter of Dimmed Sun and, in what is becoming a habit, took a while to make. However, this is partly because I've decided to increase the length of the chapters. I'll try not to take my time writing though, as I only have a month more of summer vacation to make at least two more chapters.

So, to my readers (if there are any) thank you for reading my fic, and please review!

**Disclaimer:** AdventureQuest Worlds belongs to Artix Entertainment. My OCs belong to me.

Chapter 2: Rising Darkness

The Golden Lion

Maximillian Lionfang sat on his great lion, Marcus, just beyond the moat of the smaller of the two castles inside the Capitol complex, the Lesserheim. Flanked by four members of his Unicorn Cavalry, he waited for his audience with the queen. While they waited, Maximillian dismounted, and allowed his lion to quench its thirst in the moat's waters. This activity, however, ground to a halt with the sound of clanking chains, creaking wood, and footsteps. Queen Brittany appeared before Maximillian's contingency, staying put on the other side of the moat. To break the massive glacier preventing any and all form of communication between the Queen and the Archlord, Maximillian bowed. Following his example, his knights dismounted and bowed as well. He next addressed the Queen, saying, "Your Majesty."

"What is a traitor like you doing here? The terms agreed upon by the Alliance concerning your exile was clear that—" the Queen began.

Maximillian shot her down midsentence. "Your father asked me to come. He instructed me to seek your audience."

"Father would never ask someone like you to come here. You are a traitor. You have no allies here, only enemies. Now leave." the Queen commanded.

"Still a tough nut to crack, eh? What if I told you I have proof to back my claims?" At this, Maximillian drew out a letter sealed with the King's ring. The Queen took it, opened it, and read the contents of the letter inside. Maximillian observed that afterwards, her hands shook a little.

The Queen looked up to him with eyes filled with hate and many other things. "Fine. You have leave to stay outside the city perimeter. However, do not expect anyone here to take pity on you."

"I don't need their pity because, as you can see, I brought a small portion of my army."

The Queen was surprised by this. "What?! For what reason would you bring your men here? Do you intend to sack the city?"

"Of course not. I brought them for various reasons, all of which I will not tell you. Don't worry; you have my word that my men will not harm any one of your citizens."

"The soil you're standing on is worth more than your word. You will have your audience in the eleventh hour of the night. Now leave."

And so Maximillian and his knights left as the first drops of spring rain fell to earth.

That had been an hour ago, but now was in his tent in the Onslaught's encampment outside of Swordhaven, listening to the sound of rainfall, brooding over the past wounds the Queen reopened, and reading an old, worn book, given to him quite some time ago, and only the current circumstances allowed him the freedom to examine its contents.

The book contained the last will and testament of the late King Alteon the First.

It contained an inventory of his belongings, and to whom they would be bequeathed to. Strangely, the King did not take his sword into account. The latter pages, those labeled 'Other Affairs', resembled a manual, providing a wealth of information and instructing the reader on how to deal with a wide array of topics such as land reforms, war ethics, and the proper way to meet an ArchLich and come out alive. Whilst reading through this section, Maximillian caught certain words and names, like 'Graveclaw', 'Falguard', and 'manticore'. At the end of the book, he found three letters, sealed with the King's ring. Signed on the letters were the names of his children. _Final farewells,_ Maximillian thought. After all, the king was a wise and prudent man, and he had to be, ruling over a kingdom of wolves, snakes, and foxes. This entire book was proof of this. Yet still Maximillian wondered. _Why give it to me? Me, who was a traitor to the ideal of unity and peace he so cherished? Why not to some secret-keeper, or to one of his children? Surely they would be better keepers of this than I._

As if to answer his questions, a small sheaf of paper appeared. Maximillian picked it up. When he saw that it was addressed to him, he opened it. It read:

_Max,_

_I have a lot of things I wanted to say, I want to say 'I'm sorry.' I'm sorry that I turned on you when you needed me. I'm sorry that things didn't really work out as we planned it. And I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill my promise: to bring Val back to us. You might be wondering why I entrusted this will, this very important scripture, to you. The truth is, Max, I used you. I knew that you would come rushing to Swordhaven the moment I kicked the bucket. I entrusted this to you so that you could be the one to deliver this to my children. With this, I hope to reconcile you to my children. With this, I also want them to learn that they are orphans now, and that, when push comes to shove, the only people they can trust are each other. I hope that the children will forgive me and Lyn for being horrible parents. Speaking of Lynaria, I'll give her your love._

_Once I'm on the other side, that is._

_Regards,_

_Alty._

Even with the rain pouring outside and the tears flowing down his cheeks, Lionfang's resolve only hardened. He would give this to his best friend's children. He would make them learn of the sacrifices their parents made.

But first things first.

He would need to speak with the queen and he would make her listen to what he had to say.

The Dragon Queen

It was already dark, and yet the downpour continued. Lit torches became beacons in the swirling mass of darkness all around. Still not a soul went outside. These things Brittany observed while she traversed the long hallway to the council hall—her council hall now—to meet with her ministers of defense on an extremely dire topic. Fortunately, the eerily warm glow of the magical TorchOrbs the Mad Weaponsmith installed all around the castle guided her. Upon reaching the council's great iron doors, she took a deep breath and entered in a way that screamed majesty, yet whispered elegance and subtlety.

Unfortunately, her two advisors were not impressed.

She glanced at the two men already seated at the Council's great table. Both appeared slightly annoyed at being called at this late hour. It appears, however, that General Cynari was more prepared for this, as Captain Rolith's hair was slightly disheveled, which Brittany hypothesized to have been caused by someone pulling on it. _His wife, perhaps. _Brittany took her seat at the high chair, and, with a sigh, began this unexpected meeting.

"I called this meeting to address a matter of great importance to our cause and to that of the Alliance: the Hero is missing."

The Iron General

The thunderclap that followed the queen's announcement nearly made Cynari jump from his seat in surprise. The thunder did an excellent job of setting a tense mood in the hall. The silence that followed allowed the general to ponder on what the Queen said. _The Hero? Missing? Highly improbable. But then again, we don't see him often in these premises, but... _Hoping for an answer these questions, Cynari asked, "How do you know of this, Your Majesty?"

The Queen answered, "A messenger from Princess Ai-no-Miko informed me."

This time, Captain Rolith piped up. "For how long has he been absent?"

"According to our informant, about two months."

_Two months? What could've happened back then that… Hmm… _Cynari thought of at least three possible reasons as to why the Hero had vanished, but of only one he was certain of. So he asked the Queen:

"Your Majesty, which Chaos Lord did the Hero fight two months ago?"

"The Chaos Shogun Kitsune, if I'm not mistaken…" The Queen began, but she quickly changed to: "Hold on. Are you saying that the events of the Chaos occupation in Yokai Isle might have something to do with the Hero's disappearance?"

"I'm not sure that the Chaos Lord fight is responsible for the Hero's disappearance, but it would be a possibility."

The Queen then asked both of them, "What do we know of this Kitsune?" She motioned to Captain Rolith "Captain?"

The Captain thought for a moment. "Well, we know for certain that he was a Yokai, a shape-shifting fox to be precise, and that it was he that incited his fellow Yokai to cause disorder in the area."

Cynari said, "What does the report say? If we are to discern what happened during the showdown in Yokai Isle, we must know what Princess Ai-no-Miko told us."

The queen answered, "Well, her reports say that the Dragon Koi blade Princess Miko bestowed upon the Hero was used to open a portal to the Yokai world, and Kitsune was promptly sucked in. After this, the Princess awarded the blade to the Hero as a testament to his valor. He then travelled back to the mainland along with his group."

Unexpectedly, the doors creaked open, and a voice announced:

"That's not quite what happened."

The voice belonged to Maximillian Lionfang.

The Dragon Queen

The former Archlord's arrival made the scene all the more tense… and interesting. Struggling to regain control of the situation, Brittany asked the newly-arrived, "Godfa—I mean, Lord Lionfang, what did you mean when you said that's not what happened? And, why are you here_ now_, anyway?"

"The last time I checked an hourglass, it was already the eleventh hour. Why the story Princess Ai-no-Miko sent you is a lie will be discussed shortly."

From there, Maximillian dominated the entire conversation.

"First, the report on the Chaos Lord battle was wrong because it was I who made it that way. I specifically hired a mercenary to intercept the messenger and replace the report he had with a fake."

Brittany had to somehow regain momentum, but she realized it would be impossible, so she simply said, "Why?"

"I didn't want panic spreading across the Alliance. Fighting the Chaos outside would've been made more difficult if we added chaos in the inside."

Captain Rolith spoke up, eyeing Lionfang with suspicion. "What, according to you, really happened, then?"

Lionfang scratched his chin, his deep eyes scanning Brittany from head to toe.

"According to the real report, when the Hero repelled Kitsune by sending him back to the Yokai realm, he also ripped open another portal, one which swallowed _him_ and brought him to another location, possibly also the Yokai realm. The true identity of that location, and how the Hero was able to create that portal, we still do not know."

Brittany's throat felt—no, it _was_—dry as she sat in awe of this man—no, this lord—who was master of the war of politics.

Rolith still eyed Lionfang with suspicion, and he said, "How do we know you're telling the truth, and that you're not just making it all up?"

Lionfang looked to Brittany. "The queen has my word. She will testify to the truth behind my words. Do you not, Your Majesty?"

Brittany was caught off guard by that. _His word… But how do I know he's telling the truth?_ She remembered her encounter with Lionfang earlier, just before the downpour started. She remembered the letter, her father asking her to trust. Something she was not accustomed to doing. So, she did something that would eclipse every single blunder for the rest of her life.

She said, "Yes, I can vouch for that."

Both the captain and the general looked at their queen incredulously, but did not complain.

Finally, the general asked, "But, why _are_ you here? Surely you didn't come here just to tell us that the Hero is missing and that we've been lied to."

"I came here to deliver _this._" Maximillian answered, and he promptly drew an old book from behind him. He walked near Brittany's seat, and placed it before her.

"This belongs to the three of you."

Brittany glanced at the book's cover, and opened it. She recognized her father's handwriting everywhere. It _was_ his will. _But why would Father give something like this to a traitor like him? Why not to me, or to someone else?_ However, Brittany kept these questions to herself, for fear of losing her grip on the situation, which already happened.

Lionfang continued. "Now, Your Majesty, that we have established that the Hero is indeed missing, what is to be your course of action?"

Brittany looked at all three men in the room. She cleared her throat, and said, "No word of this escapes from this room. We will plan our next course of action in subsequent meetings. For now, place all of your men in high alert for any and all attacks from any hostile fronts. Am I clear?"

At that, some measure of peace was restored to the Council Hall, with both the captain and the general answered a "Yes, Your Majesty." Soon, the meeting was done, and Brittany and Maximillian were left alone.

"Why do you have this?" Brittany asked.

"Your father entrusted it to me. He wanted me to give it to you as a lesson." Maximillian replied.

"A lesson? About what?"

"That you need to trust the people who care for you."

Brittany replied, "I think we both know that I learned that a while earlier."

Maximillian chuckled. "Indeed."

Brittany then sauntered over to the door, and said, "After some examination, I saw that there were… things that Daddy wanted to personally bequeath to us, and I might have an idea on where they might be found. We'll talk about your propositions along the way. Care to join me?"

Brittany didn't wait for her godfather, nor did he her. Soon enough, Brittany heard the creaking of a door and footsteps. When Lionfang had caught up to her, she asked, "So, what are you planning, Godfather?"

Maximillian only smiled.

The Green Ranger

Victoria paced around restlessly in the throne room, while storms roared within and without the castle walls. Her brazen hair was a tangled mess, while her nightgown, an airy white thing lined with lace, remained in its immaculate form. The dim lights in the great room cast numerous shadows, which made Victoria look like a phantom. In her walking, she did not notice her younger sister Tara arrive, in her pink bunny printed pajamas. Tara walked up to her, tugged at her sleeve, and asked, "Why are we down here, when we should be sleeping for the big day tomorrow?"

Victoria stroked her sister's hair gently. "I'm wondering too, but it seems Brittany has something to say."

"Is it about Uncle Lionfang?" Tara whispered the name, as if a taboo were imposed on its utterance.

"I hope not." Victoria replied. _No, stupid,_ her subconscious was telling her, _you know better than to hope for things contrary to the truth._

At that moment, Brittany and Lord Lionfang arrived at the throne room. Victoria observed that both had changed into sleeping clothes. Wearing a blue gown decorated with flying birds, Brittany seemed like an innocent little girl, hardly fit for ruling an entire kingdom. However, the plain shirt, brown pants, and boots Maximillian Lionfang wore failed to make him look less formidable. Seeing as all of them were now gathered here, Brittany cleared her throat and began:

"I gathered the all of you here to discuss the contents of this book." She drew out an old, tattered book which, much to Victoria's surprise, was titled 'The Last Will and Testament of King Alteon'.

Immediately, Victoria asked, "How is that with you, Brit? Shouldn't _he _be keeping that?", clearly addressing Lionfang.

"How did you know? Daddy never told anyone about this. Even I just found out this morning about this." Brittany answered, surprised.

Maximillian explained, "You see, Your Majesty, when we met on rather… unfortunate circumstances, I informed the princess of the existence of such a will."

Brittany was clearly surprised at this. "What?"

Victoria crossed her arms in satisfaction. "Seems that you're not the only one who's good with secrets, Brit."

Sensing the word war that was about to erupt, Maximillian mediated. "Please, Your Majesties, let us have more discussions, and less confrontations. Alright?"

Brittany huffed as a sign of her approval. _Still as smug as ever, are we?_ Victoria thought.

Brittany flipped open the pages of the book. "Well, the will states that we each get a personal item of Daddy's, and first up is me." she announced. "I took the liberty of taking them out from Daddy's hiding place, which only he _and I_ know of." At this, Victoria grimaced. When Brittany saw her reaction, a smile crept on the corners of Brittany's mouth.

"I get… Mom's crown. Lord Maximillian, if you please." she motioned to Lionfang, who then produced a small sack, from which he produced a circle, forged entirely of gold and adorned with jewels. Brittany took it and hung it on her arm.

"Hey, maybe you should wear that tomorrow! I think you'll look real pretty wearing it." Tara said. Brittany smiled and said, "Thanks."

"Next, we have… Vicky. A quiver? I mean, really, a _quiver_? What practical use would that have?" Brittany said as Lionfang handed her a worn leather quiver. When Brittany handed it over to her, the quiver seemed to grow warm, as if it were acknowledging Victoria as its new master.

Unfortunately, this crucial moment of insight towards the nature of this quiver was cut short by Brittany's idiotic ranting.

"It doesn't even have any arrows. What's the use of a quiver if it doesn't hold any bloody arrows?"

"I believe, Your Majesty, that it is an enchanted quiver, one that produces magic bolts that align to the wielder's elemental affinity," Maximillian said, trying to soothe his queen.

"Oh. Well, anyway, last but not least: Tara. Hmm, a book?" Brittany chuckled as Maximillian handed her the last thing in the sack. "Maybe Daddy thinks you need more grammar lessons." She handed it over to her youngest sister with a chuckle.

"Hey! Just because I don't include articles when counting the words in sentences doesn't mean I'm dumb! I take back what I said about you being pretty. When you wear that crown, you're gonna look _so _ugly the Kraken I'll release will go back to its aquarium crying for its mommy," Tara spat back.

"I believe that's not an ordinary book, Princess. If I'm not mistaken, that is the _Lexicon_, one of the many teaching aids used by sorcerers to train novice magicians," Maximillian explained.

Whilst Tara peered inside the tome, eager to examine its contents, Victoria returned her attentions to her elder sister.

"There's more to this meeting than just the giving out of heirlooms, is there?" Victoria asked.

Brittany only sighed. "I could never really fool you, Vicky." She chuckled, and continued, "You're right, this meeting does have another purpose."

"And what's that?"

"I need your help."

_My help? This bratty, now recently introspective and manipulative older sister of mine needs _my help?! Victoria could not believe it. No, her subconscious refused to acknowledge the facts that lay before her. Her sister, the Queen, was asking for her help. _Impossible,_ her subconscious whispered. But a third voice said, _But only under normal circumstances. And these aren't normal circumstances, are they?_ To ease the war going on inside her head, she tried to give an answer to Brittany.

"Sure, why not?" But she quickly followed with, "But why is _he_ here?" She motioned to Lionfang. The former Archlord then had a fraction of a second to feel uncomfortable.

"This concerns him as well," Brittany replied.

"Can my dispensing of sage wisdom wait for a teensy tiny moment?" Victoria asked, at which time she knelt down and addressed Tara.

"Tara, go upstairs. Now," she commanded.

"Aww, but I wanna stay up some more!" Tara whined.

In response, Victoria knelt, and looked her youngest sibling in the eye. "Listen, the talk Brit and I are going to be having, might be of equal, if not greater, than That Talk. So, go upstairs now, and get some sleep."

With her head cast down, Tara dragged her feet towards the staircase. However, Brittany commanded her to stop. She turned, and walked back to her sisters. When she passed Victoria, she blew a raspberry at her. Incensed, Victoria looked to her sister for answers. "I told you that I was going to meet with both of you, didn't I?" was her reply.

Tara asked, "So, what's up?"

Brittany sighed. "I want to restore Lionfang's position as Archlord. Well, it's more like he asked me to do it, and I want to do it, but…"

Victoria's eyes widened. "WHAT?! Are you insane?! You could get us all killed with that kind of idiotic move! And what do _you_ think of this?" she glared at Lionfang.

"I only wish to fulfill your father's last request of me: to take care of you and ensure your safety and well-being," answered Maximillian, cold and unyielding.

She then fixed her sights on Brittany. "We're fighting an uphill battle against Drakath here, and, if you do as you say, Gravelyn will turn on us, with all the might and fury of the Shadowscythe Empire. The kingdom _will not survive._"

Suddenly, Tara spoke. "Hey, Brit, you don't _really_ want Uncle as an Archlord, right? You just want something to be some kind of… um…"

"Adviser?" Lionfang put in helpfully.

"Yeah! That's the word! So, what about it, Brit?"

Brittany knit her eyebrows. "I guess," she muttered.

"Then, what you need to do is… Wait for it…"

At Tara's command, everyone waited.

"Marry Uncle!"

"WHAT?! Are you insane, Tara?!" Brittany and Victoria screamed in unison.

"If I wasn't, then I wouldn't have asked Daddy for a pet Tiger Leech!" Tara said, grinning.

Lionfang slapped his face with his hand. "I wanted to be Archlord so I could care for you and guide you, but to be King too much of a burden!"

"The agreement on Lord Lionfang's exile states either side cannot help any and all exiled members of the Alliance, and now you want me to _marry him?!_" Brittany said, her voice shrill with anger.

Victoria tried to soothe her elder sister. "Wait, Brit, I think Tara might be on to something. I talked to Warlic earlier, and he said Lord Lionfang might have something to do with your, erm, future, so…" She turned to Maximillian, "Godfather, are there any ripe apples in your family tree?"

Brittany screamed, "I'd rather marry a sack of cabbages than him! Wait, what?"

Lionfang replied, "Well, there is my nephew, Richard, but I sent him to LightGuard to train as a Paladin. His father died some time ago, and he entrusted Richard to me, so now I'm his legal guardian. What of him?"

Brittany screamed again, and this time to Lionfang. "Don't tell me you're seriously considering this hare-brained plan!"

Victoria clapped her hands, doing her best to ignore her sister as well as stifle the urge to laugh, and said, "Excellent. We'll marry Brittany to this Richard guy."

Brittany screamed for the third time. "WHAT?! Are you insane?!"

"I'm beginning to think it runs in the blood," Tara quipped.

Brittany continued on with her crazed rant. "You're not going to marry me to Godfather, all right, but what do you think will happen when Gravelyn sees a Lionfang on the throne of Swordhaven? Huh? What then? And what will the council say about this, this _union_? Obviously, they won't just sit back and sip tea from little ceramic cups, will they? And what if—" Maximillian raised his hand. "Majesty, please, let her speak."

Victoria sighed, and said, "Thanks. Anyway, I propose that we marry Richard _into_ our family, so that he'll take the Alteon name, so technically we aren't giving the throne away."

"But what about the other council members? Surely you don't expect—"

Tara piped up. "Ooh! Ooh! I know how to deal with that. We're expecting that the other members of the Council will have their own bets, right? So, to settle this matter fair and square, we'll do it the way Brit _always_ wanted it to be."

Maximillian asked, one eyebrow raised. "And what way might that be?"

Tara placed her spellbook on the floor and cracked her knuckles. "Tournament style."

The Shadow Empress

Gravelyn's voice boomed across the entire structure of the Evil capital of Shadowfall. It bounced around the cavernous recesses of the once mighty dragon Gorynych's remains. She was pouring out her frustration at her Good counterpart's, Queen Brittany's, poor judgment of character by screaming at the top of her lungs.

"WHAT?! Is she insane?! Is everyone in that whole flipping castle insane?!"

The herald who brought her this unfortunate news was quaking in its boots, not that it had any, knowing what usually happened to useless, expendable minions who brought displeasing news to their masters.

Gravelyn then quickly descended the small flight of stairs leading to her magnificent obsidian throne and came face-to-face with the herald, who was now practically crying for someone, anyone to return it to its tomb.

"Oh, please. Stop shivering. It's not like I'm going to vaporize you on the spot." She waited until the shivering subsided, and began with, "Now, tell me what events led to our predicament."

"Areeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew," the skeleton groaned.

"What?! Queen Brittany _allowed_ Lord Lionfang to enter the gates of the Capitol without offering any resistance? That _is_ strange."

Graveyn continued, "Did any of our spies overhear what their conversation was about?"

The skeleton shook its head. At that, Gravelyn began to think carefully about what to ask next.

"Did Lord Lionfang bring his army?"

The skeleton nodded and said, "Areeew."

This answer greatly disturbed her. Gravelyn could only mutter, "Oh, no," In her mind, she thought, _This is bad. Very bad. Should negotiations fail between the Queen and Lionfang, he might take the entire city hostage!_

Gravelyn kept pacing around, thinking of various contingencies to counter the situation at hand. But it wasn't long before she gave up.

"Go. Now. I have much to think about. Send in Sir Edgar and the Dark Caster Lysistrata," she commanded, and the herald quickly slipped away.

Moments later, there appeared before her a man clad in black armor and a woman in black and teal robes. Both knelt before her.

When they rose, Gravelyn said, "Please tell me you have good news."

Lysistrata spoke first. "Of course, Your Malevolence. The Dark Lord has been able to pinpoint the location Steven's location on the material plane. I will not bore you with details for the hour is late, but the method employed tracked the magical signature of the trans-spatial dislocation phenomenon emitted by the Hanzamune Dragon Koi blade."

Gravelyn's eyes nearly glassed over with the sheer amount of technical terms in the previous statements, but she managed to say, "Well, where is the Hero?"

"He was located in the Yokai realm, albeit in a sector of it different from Chaos Shogun Kitsune's current location," Edgar answered.

"How do we get him out?" Gravelyn asked.

"I'm afraid we don't, Malevolence, because the phenomenon that placed Steven in the Yokai realm can only be replicated by the Hanzamune, which is currently in his possession." Lysistrata answered, with a tinge of worry.

From that show of emotion, Gravelyn deduced, "You like him, don't you?"

The Dark Caster then blushed and blurted out, "O-Of course not, Malevolence! He-He is a foul-mouthed ass who goes so far as to believe he can defeat any enemy by himself! He's a selfish jerk for—"

"Making you worry?" the DeathKnight piped in.

At the witch's expense, Gravelyn allowed herself a small laugh, and then she continued, "Can he bust himself out of there?"

"Of course. He's the Hero, after all." Edgar replied.

Gravelyn smiled at that. "One more thing. What actions have your friends in Swordhaven taken in response to this situation?"

Lysistrata answered, "Oh, Alice and Oliver are still blindly searching for him, but knowing those two, they'd probably given up."

"Good. You are dismissed." Gravelyn commanded. The two knelt again and left.

Gravelyn sat for a moment in silence before slouching on her throne, making sure to look as threatening and evil. Once she was satisfied, she turned to one of the skeletal guards in the room. "Call in General Tibias and Drakemaster Valkquar, "she said. The skeleton rattled itself in response and walked out of the room. A few moments later, two skeletal men appeared. The first, General Tibias, wore heavy red armor, decorated with medals for his un-valor. A similar red helm crested with a black plume sat above his polished skull. The second, Drakemaster Valkquar, Supreme Commander of the Dracolich Corps, was more man than minion, with his tattered bloody suit, his impossibly pale skin that showed blackened veins, and bloodshot eyes. A small skeletal dragon perched itself upon his shoulders.

Gravelyn surveyed the two for a moment before speaking. "General, Drakemaster, the two of you may be wondering why I summoned you here. I need the two of you to prepare for future operations against Chaos. Up until now, we have been content to wait for Chaos to appear and then react to it. This is no longer acceptable."

"I assume my Corps is to begin scouting the rest of Lore for possible Chaos activity?" Valkquar asked. Gravelyn nodded, "General Tibias, you will work with the Dracolich Corps on this. Once Chaos has been detected, send a force to investigate and, once the presence of Chaos has been confirmed, to obliterate."

"Yes, Malevolence!" the skeletal general said, his hand raised in a salute. "Very well, you are dismissed." The skeleton nodded again, bowed, and left.

"As for you, Drakemaster, I have one more thing I need from you," Gravelyn said, turning her attention to the other being, who bowed. "I am ready to serve, Empress," Valkquar replied.

"I need a group of your riders and a fast mount. I fly for Swordhaven tonight."


	4. Chapter 3: Sunset

Author's Notes: Greetings and _bienvenue_, intrepid readers! I am sorry for the delay in publishing this next chapter of Dimmed Sun. There are a couple of reasons I couldn't publish this chapter earlier, which basically boils down to real life getting in the way, and getting walloped almost daily with plotbunnies from nowhere. I'll be adding the ones I think are worthy of being published on my profile. As an apology, this chapter includes a special bonus: a POV from someone else at the end! Well then, without further ado, I give you the latest chapter of _Dimmed Sun: Crown of Ruins_!

Disclaimer: I don't own _AQWorlds._ Even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do with it.

* * *

Chapter 3: Sunset

The Dragon Queen

Brittany woke at first light. Her hair pointed in different directions, and the numerous folds and creases on her clothes and on the bed were evidence of her tossing and turning last night. Somehow, the queen always woke up like this in the mornings of events that were of great importance to the realm, such as the formation of the Alliance. She walked over to a full-length mirror and examined herself from head to toe. Waist-long brown hair that would soon be fixed into a braid, emerald green eyes, and a petite build. In the mirror, she looked like any random villager. And yet here she was, a queen in her palace, about to go into the world and show the masses exactly how she felt now that her father was dead.

And then she sang.

She sang, in her tiny voice, a lullaby her mother once taught her at the age of five. Whenever Brittany sang it, she remembered her mother, who looked so very much like her. And when she remembered, she gained a newfound strength, the kind she would need to weather the horrors that slammed into her guts day after day after day.

And today, she needed a lot of strength.

She headed to the bathroom next and asked a servant to fetch some water. Soon, Brittany swam in the midst of foam and water. She lathered and scrubbed, trying to push away the thought of being an orphan from her mind. This battle in her mind continued for quite some time, until Brittany had completely cleaned herself.  
Next came the dress.

Brittany opened her closet, an enchanted marvel that kept expanding to accommodate her taste for clothes. Since it was a funeral, Brittany immediately thought of the extremely obvious black gown near the wardrobe doors. However, she stayed away from this specific dress because it made her look like a shapeless blob. It made her remember the advice of a friend, who, on a note completely unrelated to funerals, was quite accustomed to sitting on her legs: "White is also a color of mourning." With that in mind, she searched through and found a white gown. _No, not this one, too. It makes me look like a ghost._ Seeking to find a compromise, Brittany found a dress the color of a storm cloud. She donned it, and did a small twirl in front of the mirror. To complete her royal garb, she braided her hair, placed a black lace veil upon her head, and took a box from her bedside table. She took her mother's crown out of it and placed it upon her own head. With her preparations complete, Brittany headed out and closed the door to her chambers.

The Iron General

Cynari knew that a very tense day was ahead of him. He knew the Queen was right in saying that public events like the funeral were perfect opportunities for assassinations, so the general commanded his guards to be doubly alert against any attempts on the Queen's life. Especially that the rites would be held at sundown, which would make it harder to spot any would-be murderers. He knew this the moment he woke up. He looked to the solar clock on the wall for the time. _The ninth hour?! Oh shit!_ Cynari hurriedly scampered out of bed and into the bath, where he found a tub of water ready for him. He shed his clothes faster than a snake and dived into the water. He then proceeded to scrub himself raw. Afterwards, he jumped out of the bath like a cat and quickly rubbed himself dry. He wrapped a towel round his waist and proceeded to dress himself when the image of a blushing woman in a red hood and a wolfskin cloak caught his eye.

They attempted to scream in unison, but the risk of being caught stopped them.

Instead, the nearly naked general searched his wardrobe for some underpants and breeches, muttering and cursing all the while. When he had found a suitable pair and put them on, he took off the towel and faced the woman, had her eyes closed shut and was flushed a fierce shade of red.

"Scarlet, what are you doing here?" he asked.

Scarlet opened her eyes. "I'm here for the funeral." She walked toward the wardrobe and picked out a doublet for him. "I'm also here because I was under the impression that you wanted to see me."

"I do, but I have work to do." Cynari replied, as the hunter helped him dress.

Scarlet pouted. "You _always_ have work to do."

The general sighed. "Scarlet, we're at war here. It's not like I can just sit around and do nothing. How did you get in here, anyway?"

"Oh, I snuck in through the window." The hunter beamed at him.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if you get caught?" he asked, his voice stern.

"I do, you know. If I get caught, I'll just tell the guards you're my grandfather and that I came to bring you food," the hunter said, giggling.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Maybe," Scarlet replied. She then started buttoning down the doublet. A moment of silence followed.

Cynari wrapped his arms around her waist. "It's good to see you again."

Scarlet smiled. "Ditto."

The two leaned in close, hoping for a touch, a tease between their lips. However, three quick knocks on the door separated the two.

Cynari said, "Wait here. This will just be a moment."

It was Anya. She seemed impatient, what with her foot tapping on the floor and her hair, normally bound in an immaculate bun, was simply piled up haphazardly.

"My lord, the queen asks for your presence in the throne room immediately," she announced.

"I'll be there soon."

Cynari closed the door. He found out that Scarlet already left, and judging by the weakly fluttering curtains, she left though the window. Again.

_Women. Always in such a hurry, _was the only thought that came across his mind as he began putting on his armor.

The Green Ranger

"It sure must be hot out there," Victoria whispered to herself. She was leaning on a balcony in the Drachenheim, the larger keep where the royal family lived. Outside the encircling walls of the royal castle, a teeming mass of people from all over walked through the streets and narrow alleyways of Swordhaven. More arrived every hour, all of them drawn to the Capitol for the funeral of the late King Alteon. Merchants and tradesmen, looking to make a profit from the multitude of visitors, only exacerbated the problem. It's s_trange that more people want to see my father now that he's dead,_ she mused. Breathing deeply, she straightened her dress and stepped back inside her room, then sat at her desk, waiting. _I must keep myself together; I must be strong for my sisters. It's what father would have wanted. It would not do to give in to my grief now._

A knock broke her train of thought. "What is it?" she asked, turning to face the door.

"My Lady? Lord Lionfang is here," answered a guard. _This is it,_ she thought.

"Very well, let him in," she said. The door opened, and her godfather stepped through.

"You asked for me?" He said.

"Yes, I did. I wished to talk to you about a few important matters," she said, motioning him into a seat.

Lionfang raised an eyebrow. "What matters would those be?"

Victoria sat down opposite him and crossed her ankles. "I don't trust you."

Her godfather only laughed. "Milady, if I had a sack of coins for every person who didn't trust me, I would be a very, very rich man."

"Which you are."

"Case in point." He then sighed. "Is that all?"

Victoria shook her head. "There is another matter, one that concerns our mutual enemy."

Lionfang raised an eyebrow. "Who? We have a somewhat disturbingly high amount of mutual enemies."

"It appears that there have been some disturbances in Darkovia."

"Disturbances?"

"Of the Chaotic kind, yes. Now, I will have you scour the place for signs of Chaos activity."

"Have you consulted Brittany with this matter?"

Victoria nodded. She stood up to get two scrolls of parchment sealed with red wax and handed them over to Lionfang. "She has letters addressed to both the Vampire Queen Safiria and the Werewolf King Constantin. Seek their audiences on this matter as soon as possible."

"Of course. Wait, why me? Would the General not be sufficient for this task?"

"General Cynari comes from a line of noblemen renowned for their ability to hunt the creatures of the night. I don't think he'd be a very good ambassador. Do you?"

"Hells, no. But why me, really?"

"Brittany and I came to agreement that this would a test of your loyalty."

"Fair enough. I'll be taking my leave, then." And so Maximillian Lionfang left.

It was quite some time before Victoria really started to feel the silence blanketing the room. She stared out into the horizon, watching the sun continue its journey into the night lands. _Father, what am I to do?_ Unable to withstand the crushing loneliness, Victoria rushed out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

The Hatchling

At sunset, the citizens of Swordhaven would light their lamps and torches and prepare for the long night ahead of them. But tonight, at this particular night, not a single light shone within the homes, manses and establishments of the city, for everyone was outside and toting lit candles.

Tara saw all this as she peered from a window at the Great Hall. She looked on in wonder and grief, for she knew for what those candles were lit for.

She looked behind her, at her eldest sister, ordering large throngs of people around as they made the final preparations for the King's resting place. She walked up to Brittany and asked, "Can I go up to my room?"

"Tara, no." Brittany's words were firm.

"Why?"

"Because, Tara, the procession will be coming at any time and we need to be prepared!" Now, Brittany sounded exasperated.

"Aww, please!" Tara put the extra effort in looking cute, hoping that cuteness would wear Brittany down.

Unfortunately, she failed.

Then eldest Alteon knelt to her level and said, "Tara, I need you to behave, okay? This is, this is, well, you could say this is a very important occasion, and I need you to be prim, proper and well-behaved, just until your bedtime. Okay?"

The youngest Alteon answered with, "What's in it for me?"

"I'm not going to bug you for two months."

"Six."

"Done. Now will you_ please_ just sit in one spot and not ruin your dress?" Brittany pleaded, to which Tara complied. Then she left to piss another group of people off.

Then came in the middle Alteon, Victoria. She sat beside her and smiled. "Is it Brittany again?" she inquired.

"Have I ever had a fight with anyone in this castle who _isn't _her?" Tara continued, "What is with her? She keeps telling me what to do, what not to do, trying to make me be like _her_! Well, I'll never be like her! I'd rather _die_ than be like her!" She turned to her sister. "How do you stand her, anyway?"

Victoria only laughed. "I don't. That's why I'm always out of the castle."

She continued, "You know, you and Brittany have a lot in common. You both hate to lose, were thrust into positions of power without proper experience, and you both have an extremely headstrong personality. So if what you said about you dying instead of her, you'd already be thrice dead now."

Tara pondered over what her sister said for a moment. However, the moment was only fleeting, interrupted by Brittany shouting, "Places, everyone! The mummery is about to begin!"

The Golden Lion

Maximillian Lionfang was one of the few nobles who chose to remain in the mass of chaos that was the Drachenheim rather than publicly show his face in that death march of a procession. He was at the castle grounds, currently contemplating the rectangular hole six feet deep into the ground and the mound of dirt beside it_. Ending your journey in the place where it all began? Alty, you bastard, you always did have a flair for the dramatic. _He looked to the vast expanse of green, to a certain spot where two noblemen's sons named Max and Alty first met.

And then the Queen is beside him, barely making a sound. "This is where you first met, isn't it?"

Lionfang nodded. "Back then, we had such high hopes about the future, he and I. We dreamed that we'd go around the country, defending the weak, protecting the innocent, getting all the girls."

The Queen gave a little chuckle. "You pretty much got all that you wanted, then."

"Yes, and with disastrous results. Valen, Alty, and Lynaria are all dead, the three of you are orphans, and I'm the only one left to keep the realm from falling apart."

The Queen smiled. "Ironic, since half the realm you're trying to keep together wants your head mounted on a pike."

"Indeed."

The princesses Victoria and Tara soon appeared, wearing darker shades of their ordinary attire.

"It seems that Princess Miko has ascended the throne of Yokai Isle," Victoria said. None of them looked surprised.

Brittany answered, "Well, it was only a matter of time. Emperor Daisho _is_ an old man, and he really needs his rest."

_The old world is finally giving way to the new order, _Maximillian notes to himself.

The procession crept by Lionfang unnoticed, and soon, he was surrounded by a white pavilion, a white coffin edged with gold, and a throng of sweaty, teary-eyed and exasperated well-wishers. The ArchMage Warlic was at the side of the grave. He opened a book he carried with him, and began the funeral rite with, "Dearly beloved, we gather tonight to mourn the passing of our dear King Alteon…" In no time at all, they were lowering the coffin into the pit, and covering the whole thing with a mound of soil. And just like that, the funeral was over. Every nobleman rushed to get inside the castle for the grand feast that lay there, whilst the small people left the perimeter of the castle through the main gate.

But not Maximillian.

He took a clod of earth and sprinkled it over the grave, now marked with a simple granite tombstone, and prayed to any god who had the ears to listen:

_Whoever or whatever you are, grant my friend here a peaceful sleep. He's more than earned it._

The Dragon Queen

Brittany had never felt so relieved in her life. Never, because her relief came with the odd sensation of every muscle in her body screaming for respite, like she'd gotten a particularly bad wound at a joust. Nevertheless, she felt relieved, but for what, she did not know. The same went for the aching. She feared that the storm— er, feast— at the Great Hall would take its toll on her. However, Brittany scolded herself for thinking of such a thing. _Shut up, me, I can do this thing. I _am _wearing gray, after all. If I can't weather them, I'll at least disguise myself as an innocent storm cloud. _She kept repeating to herself that she must be brave, not just simply unafraid until she reached the Great Hall.

However, no amount of mental preparation could have readied her for this.

Everyone was eerily quiet, waiting for the appearance of the lords and ladies who were to sit at the high table. Brittany and the others did not disappoint; a while later, she was seated at the middle, with Empress Gravelyn at her left and her sisters, and Lord Lionfang at her right. She noted that Ai-no-Miko was not present, so she asked a herald, "Where is Em- Princess Miko?" She stops herself at just the right moment, because she wants to confirm if everyone knows the rumors of Miko's coronation.

"The Princess is indisposed at the moment, so she says that she will not be able to attend the feast."

"I see. Then we shall begin without her," she replies.

Soon, servants are scuttling everywhere around the massive space, filling every cup with wine. When everyone's cups were filled, Brittany stood and held her cup high. "I propose a toast to the late King Alteon, a great father, and an even greater ruler. Hail to the King!"

All around, people were raising their wine and answering, "Hail to the King!"

And then they drank. Brittany was careful to drink in as little as possible. She tasted what little she had drank, and found her mouth coated with the taste of apples, cinnamon, cloves, and most especially, grapes. After getting over the initial intoxication of such a small dose of wine, Brittany declares, "Let us begin the feast!"

The entire room explodes at the deafening roar of the crowd as serving plate upon serving plate of steaming food is placed upon their table. For starters, there was a cheese and onion soup. Herbed roast partridge, rabbit stew, and loaves of white bread completely dominated the main course and dainty lemon tarts were served for dessert.

While everyone was busy scarfing down the meal, Gravelyn and Lord Lionfang included, the Alteon sisters shared the habit of tasting a little of this, taking a bite out of that, and generally taking a modest piece out of everything. The aching in Brittany's head did not stop, even while eating, so she told Victoria, "I'm just going out for some fresh air. Don't wait for me, okay?"

Victoria was in the middle of finishing her bout with the partridge, so she swallowed before she answered. "Sure, but… Are you feeling sick? If you are, then I can send for a healer and he'll—"

"No, really. I'm fine. I just need some fresh air."

"Alright."

She excused herself from the table and headed for the nearest balcony. Fortunately, it was only two turns away. Close enough to the gathering, but far enough from prying eyes.

Brittany gladly welcomed the blast of fresh air that greeted her when she opened the door. She walked outside, and was greeted by the moon and the stars above, and the small copse of lilies below.

Brittany had always loved lilies for the image of innocence they impart, something she had lost when she took up the mantle of the resident manipulator of the castle. She was especially fond of the small cluster of the flowers below, as she and Father planted it there. The wind nipping at her and making her dress snap noisily almost instantly transported her to that day, but the pain prevented her from leaving. It then reached a point where the pain was so unbearable that Brittany simply gave in, and the last thing she saw as she hit the floor was the pale white moon looking back at her.

The Young Lion

Richard Lionfang was not the kind of person who particularly enjoyed feasts. He had two reasons why he disliked such events: first, feasts were usually the times where you get poisoned by a roast boar, or stabbed at the back with a kitchen knife. Richard liked being alive, so he preferred to stay away from things that would kill him. Second, he didn't like places with lots of people. He learned early in his life that there would be people who would always judge him for the way he dressed, ate, rode, and generally how he lived his life. Avoiding places with lots of people meant he could avoid the sharp glances and the pointed words directed at him, as well as the sharp knives and poisoned darts.

Presently, he was off making a fool of himself again (or so his uncle Maximillian thought) by conducting a feast of his own in his room, with a loaf of black bread and a few rashers of bacon. His lioness, Arthur, also ate beside him. Her dinner consisted of a hunk of salted pork.

The Drachenheim fascinated him immensely, so he thought of touring the castle and the surrounding gardens. Seeing the history of warfare and treachery etched onto the very stones was a truly enlightening experience. Unfortunately, the night saw him caged by his uncle in his room for refusing to attend the feast.

As Richard and his lion finished off his supper, his eyes wandered around the room. Pale grey walls surrounded him, with a window at the east end, and a door opposite. Behind him was his bed, and beneath that was a dark red rug.

With his hunger sated, Richard then turned to that other part of him that was starving: his curiosity. Surely his uncle wouldn't notice he was gone a few moments, would he? He stared at the door, longing to get out. He got off his seat and started for the door when Arthur gave a small cry, as if pleading him not to leave her alone. He threw back a look, saying he'll be right back. The lioness then left him alone.

Richard opened the door, hoping for it to be silent. Unfortunately, the door was not with him in his plot, as it creaked in the noisiest and most annoying way possible. Luckily, no one was around to hear such a bone-chilling, disturbing noise.

He stealthily made his way around, trying to figure out where the nearest place of interest was. Wandering about the corridors of the massive castle at night was not exactly one of his best schemes, but what the hell, he was already here, so Richard just made do with what he had.

After wandering around in what seems to be forever, Richard chanced upon a hallway where the curtains fluttered faintly in the wind, and a human hand lay on the floor. Only too eager to help, Richard rushed to the scene and discovered a woman collapsed on a balcony overlooking the flower gardens.

Richard grabbed the woman's wrist and felt her pulse. _She's alive, just unconscious. _He carried her in his arms and set out to find the healer's quarters.

The more time Richard spent with his mystery woman, the more he noticed how beautiful she was. Braided brown hair, fair complexion, the works. _I wonder, could we get together at least once, when all of this is over? _he thinks to himself. Lost in his thoughts, Richard failed to notice that a figure was fast approaching them.

It was too late to realize that the figure was Uncle Maximillian.

The Golden Lion

Maximillian paced around his chambers, fuming with anger. His nephew and adopted son Richard sat nearby, with his eyes fixed to the ground. The woman Richard carried was safely escorted to her chambers to rest. As for the two of them, the night had only begun.

"What did I tell you about leaving your chambers?" Maximillian started, his voice steely calm.

"I was going to go back, but—"

"I told you to not leave without my permission! Did you ask for it? No! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Richard rose in anger against his uncle. "_I'm not a boy anymore!_ You can't keep locked up in this room like I'm a child, Uncle! I'm a man grown, and you insist in hiding me?! Why, Uncle? _Why!_"

At this display of anger, Maximillian's face reverted to its original steel, betraying no trace of his previous outburst. "You were never really a child. You were a premature birth, if your father's word was to be believed, and so you had to fight to be born. You were sickly as a babe because of this, and you fought to live."

"I don't understand where you could possibly be going with this."

"You will, in time. Before I start my long-winded explanation, I must ask you to sit, or your feet might get tired and start cursing you for being part of your body."

But Richard's frame did not budge. "No. We will talk of this on equal footing. As men."

Maximillian sighed. "As you wish." _The boy has your thick skull, Julius. Though I fear it might be too thick for his own good. _"As you know, you are the only son my youngest brother Julius, the only one of the three Lionfangs to marry. This makes you the heir to Brightfang Keep."

"And?"

"There is the tiny detail that our holdings, the Pridelands, is the only source of the kingdom's gold that isn't named Dwarfhold. This gives us an immense strategic advantage, such as—"

Richard folded his arms and rolled his eyes. "Letting us wave that wealth around like a cudgel and using it to bludgeon our enemies to submission?"

Maximillian gave his nephew the faintest hint of a smile. "After a fashion."

"So you're basically locking me up in a room, probably to the end of my days, because you don't want me to lead myself to my own careless, untimely death. Am I right?"

"You wound me, nephew. You're to be kept here only until you get a wife."

"Like I said: to the end of my days."

"Well, speaking of wives, seeing as no prison can hold you and your hot blood, I decided to wed you to a woman of a comparatively opposite temperament, in order to balance you out."

"So, who's the lucky girl?"

"The queen."

Richard's eyes widened. "Oh. I—"

"You took it better than expected."

"Well, yes, but only because I'm so used to you taking control of my life that I'm not surprised anymore."

"I see." He smiled.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong? You're smiling. Some grand plot of yours must be going along fine for you to be smiling."

"Nothing. It's just that, you've met the queen before, and it seemed like the two of you would get along well to me."

"Huh? When?"

"Why, when you were carrying her a while ago."

The Shadow Empress

Usually, the misty graveyard that lay just outside the walls of Swordhaven would have been a terrifying sight for any nocturnal travelers, especially on full moon nights. On such nights, the moon turned the mists silver, giving every tree and gravestone an otherworldly feel. Popular tales even proposed that on such nights, the dead came out of their tombs and graves to hold revels that lasted until dawn.

_Of course, such tales are nonsense, _Gravelyn thought, _as any soldier of Evil worth his undeath should know. _She walked – or rather, _stalked_ – silently between the gravestones, leaving no trace of her passing but the mist coiling in her wake. _I must admit though,_ she thought, taking a seat on a bench underneath a gnarled tree, _the Alteons know how to keep a good graveyard._ And wasn't that a sad thought, being so detached that she could discern the quality of a graveyard, right? Of course, there was a reason, that reason being that she preferred the company of the undead compared to the living. There were some exceptions though, exceptions like her council, who, despite being undead, could make a racket that could wake the dead, literally. _I still remember the last time that happened, _she grinned as the memory of that day came back. _By the end of it, Rogath and Klunk were arguing which of their masters owned which skeleton, while the rest of the council grabbed as many parts as they could before disappearing. _She sat there for a moment, contemplating that very moment, _feeling_ the castle shake as a meeting between Legionnaires and Voidspawn devolved into an all-out brawl, clavicles, fibulae, and metacarpals flying about, bones pounded into dust, and general mayhem spreading throughout the bowels of the castle.

A clacking sound from somewhere among the graves shook her from her thoughts. Turning towards the source of the noise, she found herself face to face with a skeleton.

"Areeew…," it moaned, shaking itself to draw attention to a scroll that had been placed inside its ribcage.

Gravelyn took the scroll and sent the skeleton on its way. The scroll read:

_Malevolence:_

_We have confirmed the rumors of a Chaos Lord stirring up mayhem in Darkovia. The lord's gender, race and identity have, as of the time of writing, not yet been identified. However, something far more troubling has arisen. Whispers of another Chaos Lord waking are filling our mortal allies with panic. We shall try to eradicate these whispers whilst searching for the truth._

_Our illusionists have discovered that the various players in Swordhaven are planning a discreet meeting on a delicate matter: the trial of the former Archlord Maximillian Lionfang. The Queen would wish to reinstate Lord Lionfang to his position of power. However, her subjects say otherwise. The alchemist and his porcine ally agree that Lionfang must be swiftly executed, on grounds that 'fanatic berserkers' such as him and his Onslaught must be terminated for the so-called 'greater good of the realm.' The general also has a differing opinion, saying that the Archlord's continuing exile is a just punishment for his crimes against the Alliance. The outcome of the debate remains to be seen, however, and it seems that various representatives of the Alliance member states will also be asked to state their take on the matter. Please be on guard for a debate occurring sometime next week._

_Discord amongst the higher echelons of the Shadowscythe have reached breaking point. The Archfiend's Voidspawn, along with their master, have regrouped to the confines of the Citadel cave system, intending to amass more troops even as the numbers of the Undead Legion continue to swell. The Master Noxus feels that this situation is a trap, and wishes that you find the correct path, one that "will lead the Shadowscythe Empire to reach its fullest potential"._

_We would also like to give our regards to the Queen Brittany in light of recent events._

_Long Unlive._

_Archlich Xollen, Spymaster_

"Areew?" the skeleton moaned in a questioning tone, after Gravelyn had finished reading.

"Yes, I will send a reply," Gravelyn said. The skeleton handed her a roll of parchment and a quill and inkbottle from somewhere in its armor.

_So, Chaos has begun to adapt, _Gravelyn mused, as she watched the skeleton scurry away, a reply tied securely to its vertebrae. _ It seems that Drakath is not an idiot after all._

The Dragon Queen

Brittany awoke to the sound of shoes clacking on stone.

Her servant, Naele, was running about the room, busy in tidying this and adjusting that. Brittany took care to simply observe and not make a sound, but the servant's sixth sense tingled and she immediately ran to her master's side.

"What may I do for you, milady? Is something wrong, milady?" she asked, in a voice that mimicked birdsong.

"No, it's just—" Brittany began, but she held her head just as a sharp spike of pain ran through her brain. Brittany winced and tried to block out the throbbing in her head. "What—what happened last night?"

The servant frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know, milady. I was at the hall, waiting on the nobles at the feast."

"I—I was at the balcony, and then—Urk!" Brittany tried to rise, only to be felled by another lance of white-hot pain.

"Milady!"

""I—I'm fine, Naele. Please, fetch me some bathwater."

"Of course, milady. Would you like anything else, milady? Shall I call a healer, milady?"

"The healer can wait until after my bath."

"Of course, milady." Soon, the servant was scampering off to fetch some warm water.

Brittany struggled to get out of bed and into the bathroom. Every step was full of pain, and she wrestled with the thought of doing the unqueenly action of screaming. Only when she stripped of her dress and lay in the tub did the pain subside. She closed her eyes and thought of better days, days where the sun shone its brightest, the flowers were in full bloom, and her father's arms wrapped around her lean frame. The warm water was a welcome gift. And so, her bath began.

Brittany first undid her braid, and lathered her hair with rosemary oil. Next, she grabbed that soap and scrubbed furiously until her skin was almost raw.

Brittany liked taking baths. She liked how the bathwater cleansed her, leaving her pure and immaculate afterwards. This one was no exception. The aromatic mists that came from the various oils Brittany applied on her body eased the pain in her head somewhat. When she finished, she dressed in the underclothes and the white gown hanging on the doorknob. She came out and saw that Naele was there, and so was the healer.

"Milady, I've summoned Healer Garth, as you commanded."

"Good. You may leave us, Naele." The servant obeyed, and left the room.

"Majesty, you called for me?" Garth took a small bow.

"Yes, my head. It hurts. A lot."

"I see. Please, Majesty. Sit for a while and close your eyes. I will make this all better." Brittany did as she was told. Garth placed his hands on Brittany's forehead, and slowly, warmth emanated from the healer's palm and into her skull, easing, and then, completely banishing the pain from her head.

Brittany sighed. "Thank you. Can you tell what caused this?"

The healer's brows furrowed. "Migraine like that can only come from hitting your head on something very hard. I suppose Your Majesty might have slipped and bumped your head on the floor."

Brittany thought about this for a moment. "I see. Thank you, Garth. You may take your leave."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

When she heard the dull thud of the door, Brittany walked over to her wardrobe and picked out her favorite blue dress, the one her father gave to her as a debut present. She then proceeded to her mirror, where she braided her hair and tried to look as pleasing as possible. She then turned to go, and went out the door with a sigh.

.

.

.

Somewhere in Darkovia

Romyr rubbed his temples, an obvious sign of his annoyance. The cause of this annoyance knelt before him: one of his peasants, a man named… well, a man. A man telling all sorts of stories, with the conviction of someone telling the truth. Stories that supposedly explained why his peasants, his _food_, had started disappearing. Stories that apparently involved purple werewolves. _Winged _purple werewolves. He sighed impatiently and motioned to the man. "Let's go over this again. You were in the forest…"

"I w-was in the fo-forest with a fe-few others. We were pa-patrolling outside the castle with Si-sir Argost and his guards, when we were a-attacked." Romyr nodded at this part. Such patrols were a necessity in the Darkovian forest, especially for those vampiric lords with holdings close to known hideouts of the wolves. These patrols were often made up of a group of peasants, for bait, as well as a group of knights. However, these patrols had recently started disappearing without a trace. If it had been the wolves, there should have been signs of a struggle, as well as vampire heads on spikes. So it might be something else…

Romyr shook his head. _Now's not the time to start thinking about such baseless tales._ He motioned for the man to continue.

"We we-were about t-to turn back, mi-milord, when we heard _howling _from deeper in the fo-forest. T'was not like a normal werewolf's howl, milord. It sounded higher yet deeper at the same time. Sir Argost had us turn around and head towards it when, they came out for us."

Here the man stopped, quivering, nervously eyeing the guards surrounding him. It was well known among the peasants that Romyr was not a pleasant ma- _vampire_. The evidence of that were the two other peasants who'd survived the 'attack' last night, now nothing more than bloodless corpses. It was also known among the peasants that Romyr was a particularly thirsty vampire.

Romyr sighed again. Reaching into the man's mind, a particular power of his bloodline, he planted the thought that _Vampire Lord Romyr would more likely be merciful if I delivered the story without stuttering. Not likely, _Romyr thought as he withdrew from the man's mind, _this one smells like he has tastier blood than the others. _"Continue," he said out loud, fixing his glare at the peasant, who was now thankfully no longer shaking.

Strangely, however, the peasant's face was blank and expressionless, as if all emotion had been drained out of him. This troubled Romyr. "Speak more of this incident, peasant, or I shall have to… punish you."

The peasant looked at him, his eyes full of primal hunger and boiling hate. "No more. This ends tonight."

Then the peasant changed, to Romyr's alarm and the guards' surprise. His hands became tipped with sharp claws capable of ripping a man to shreds. His clothes burst to make way for rippling muscle. An mouth elongating into a snout, ears going near the top of the skull, and black fur sprouting all over the body. A complete werewolf.

However, what disturbed the usually stoic Vampire lord was the pair of wings that erupted from the wolf's back. In a split second after the transformation was completed, there was calm. Then complete chaos reigned: the guards charged in to protect their master, the silver tips of their spears glistening in the moonlight. The winged wolf swatted them aside as effortlessly as the autumn wind blows away fallen leaves. Soon, the wolf was on to him. Romyr tried to change into a form more suited for combat, but his adversary was quick, and forced him to the ground with a swipe of his hand.

The winged wolf stood over Romyr's broken form, a hand poised to strike. _So this is how I meet my end,_ Romyr thought. _Seeing the new face of evil eye to eye._ The abomination spoke, its voice not unlike a wolf's growl. "My name is not 'peasant'. It's Raskar."

And Raskar brought the claw down on Lord Romyr Rallhard, Lord of the Valley of Death.

As he slowly lost his senses, Romyr heard windows break, and werewolves with fur as purple as the nightshade swarm inside. The last thing he heard was a long howl, followed with a victorious cry.

"Long live Wolfwing! Long live Wolfwing! Long live Wolfwing!"


End file.
